Stones in the Road (34 page)

“That’s Aretha. ‘Who’s Zoomin’ Who?’”

“Whatever! Point is, you ought to walk down that hall to the bathroom and have a look in the mirror, because that person staring back at you is the problem, not Mr. Jackson Ledbetter. That person staring back at you is the one you need to forgive.”

“Why doesn’t anyone see this from my point of view?” I inquired.

“Because you’re a jackass, Wiley,” she replied. “I’ve known you since our kids was in kindergarten. Sometimes you get a burr up your butt, and God help us all. Maybe what you need to do is wake that boy up and ask him.”

“Ask him what?”

“If he forgives you. And he either will or he won’t, but at least you can move on and get over your darn self. ’Cause I don’t think you realize what you’re doing here, Wiley. That man—you love that man! I know you do, honey. I don’t care what you say, I know you love him. You got it bad. And that man wants to put a ring on your finger and make you his baby daddy. Or momma… or whatever. He wants to build a life with you. And you gon’ throw all that away? Shit! It ain’t like he sits around shooting up or something. You didn’t even know he was back on the stuff until the DHS came along. If he was a real drug addict, you would have known it a long time ago, and you wouldn’t need some woman from the DHS with a spot test to tell you that. Now he’s in rehab, and he’s cooperating. Give him a chance! He’s the one who’s going to have to check in every week and take another drug test, and if he fails, you gon’ be the first to know. And if you really want to get back at him, take your ass to Boston and get married. And then, if he fucks up, you say all right, sucker, I’ll see you in divorce court, and I’ll take half your shit. At least you’ll get something out of it. But right now, you’re just throwing it all away like a damned fool. You need to check yourself, Wiley. You need to deal! Am I making myself understood, sweetheart? Is there something about what I’m saying that’s not getting through that fat-ass head of yours?”

“I know what you’re saying,” I said wearily. “And you’re probably right.”

“Probably? I’m a woman! I’m always right!”

“I should go,” I said.

“I ain’t picking at you, Wiley.”

“I know you’re not.”

“I’m just telling you what somebody needs to tell you.”

“I know.”

“Give that man a chance. Please! If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for that boy in there—he’s heartbroken, the poor thing. You standing there, giving that man his ring back! Lord have mercy on the fools of this world, and there be ever so many!”

I went into the living room. Noah was lying on the couch, dead to the world. I shook his shoulder to wake him up. He looked at me, blinked, momentarily confused.

We need to go home
, I signed.

Wordless, frowning his imperious frown, he got to his feet.

O
N
THE
following night I sat on the bed looking at pictures of me, Jackson, and Noah. They were part of a “shipment” Jackson had brought over that day of my belongings that included the laptop (which I tried to give back to him because I did not consider it to be “my” laptop; he merely shook his head and put it on the pile), my personal papers, clothes, and whatnot. There was nothing quite so sad as watching him carry my stuff from his Jeep. He had packed it all very carefully. Respectfully, almost. We said nothing as he unloaded the boxes. He looked lost. Completely, totally lost.

He looked like I felt.

Now I had a horribly uncomfortable feeling in my gut.

I missed him. Christ, how I missed him. I had been flying high on my self-righteous wings, so indignant, so pissed off. Now I felt empty. I shuffled through the pictures, remembered how happy we were, how crazy in love, how everything seemed right with the world, and I began to cry.

Mama poked her head in the door.

“What’s wrong, Wiley?” she asked. “Why are you crying?”

I said nothing.

I was in the grip of black, hopeless despair. I had realized—suddenly, painfully, awkwardly—that Noah needed and deserved so much more than me. That realization broke my heart all over again. Mama and Billy and just about everyone else in my life had been sending me that message since the day Noah was born. I’d been determined to prove them wrong. That proud, stubborn Cantrell gene had dug in its heels, would not hear a contrary thought.

But what if they were right?

Mama sat on the bed, took the pictures from my hand, and looked at them.

“I just wanted to have a real life, Mama,” I said. “I wanted to be a real person with a real life. I wanted people to respect me and give me a chance. But maybe y’all are right. Maybe it isn’t God’s will. Noah deserves so much more than me.”

“Oh, Wiley.”

“It’s true, Mama.”

“All parents feel that way sometimes,” she admonished.

“I’ve been thinking about talking to Billy,” I said.

“Why?”

“I’m giving up custody of Noah.”

“Wiley!”

“He’s right, Mama. I’m no good. Noah’s not going to have any kind of life with me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Noah shouldn’t have to suffer because of me.”

“Stop talking like that. Honest to Christmas! What’s wrong with you?”

“It’s what y’all say.”

“You’re just not sensible, Wiley. That doesn’t mean you’re no good.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, Wiley, I don’t. I don’t understand you at all anymore. I really, truly don’t. And I blame myself for all of this. If I had listened to you about Father Michael… what that man did to you. If I had just listened, none of this would have happened. He’s the reason why you’re… you know.”

“Oh, please.”

“He is!” Mama said with conviction. “You were just a little boy… I wish I had listened to you. I really do, Wiley. I don’t know why I didn’t. Now you’re all screwed up, and it’s my fault.”

I said nothing.

“You’re not serious,” Mama said. “You’re not going to give up custody of Noah. You can’t do that!”

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

“But why?”

“He deserves a lot more than I can give him.”

“What he needs is you, Wiley.”

“I used to believe that,” I said.

“He would be devastated,” Mama exclaimed. “Why are you talking like this? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I can’t believe my ears!”

“I’m a failure, Mama. I have no money. I’ve got nothing in the bank. I’ve got a shit job, medical bills I’m never going to be able to pay, a car that’s falling apart. I tried to have a relationship with a decent guy, but I got engaged to a fucking drug addict. Everything I touch turns to shit. I’m sponging off Billy now because I don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m almost thirty-five years old, and I don’t have a pot to piss in. How is Noah going to have any kind of future with me?”

“You’re his father!”

“I fucked that up too, and thanks to me and his mother, he’s deaf and God knows what else. I’m surprised he’s still alive. He should have been dead years ago, thanks to me and Kayla. Do you know what it’s like to live with that?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” Mama said. “The doctor said you might suffer from a little post-traumatic stress… after the tornado… it’s understandable. We were all shaken up.”

“Y’all have been telling me I’m not a good father since the day Noah was born. And you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to raise him on my own.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“But I am, Mama.”

“Why?”

I could not explain this dark, angry blackness that had stolen upon me, this wave of helplessness that was overwhelming me. For Noah’s entire life, I had thought only about what was best for me. What I wanted. I had blithely ignored Mama and Bill. Or fought with them. Or ridiculed them. I had refused to entertain the idea that perhaps they were right. And yet, perhaps there was indeed something fundamentally flawed about me, fundamentally wrong. Perhaps Noah deserved so much more. Maybe they were right to pity him. Maybe the best thing to do was to get out of the way and let him have the life he deserved.

“You’re going to give him up?” Mama asked, incredulous.

I nodded.

“You can’t give up your own child, Wiley. It doesn’t work that way.”

But I only shook my head.

S
ATURDAY
ARRIVED
,
and we made the drive to New Albany for the fundraiser. Although it was only eleven in the morning, there were already more than a hundred people milling around.

My cousin Tina was there. So were Tonya and Keke, Miss Ora, and many others, including Jackson Ledbetter and his parents, who gathered around as I approached.

At precisely eleven, the mayor of New Albany took to the podium to kick off the mini fundraiser, noting how times of tragedy brought folks together and brought out the best in people.

“There’s a good example of that spirit here with us today,” the mayor said, pausing for dramatic effect and looking around.

Eventually his eyes settled on me.

I frowned.

“When the tornado bore down on us and left us hurrying to find a place of safety, one young man decided he wasn’t going to leave his grandfather behind. After seeing his family safely to their shelter, he ran back inside the house to get his papaw. Y’all know who that was.”

There was applause at this line. People looked at me with frank admiration. The mayor himself offered one of the smiles that got him elected over and over.

“That’s why we’re here today,” the mayor went on. “That young man—Wiley Cantrell—doesn’t have health insurance, and his hospital bill was almost twenty thousand dollars. He could have gone down into the shelter, but he took a chance and risked his own life to try to save his papaw. He not only lost his papaw that day, he has a young son to support, and his mama’s house was destroyed. I think we, as a community, need to come together to help Mr. Wiley pay his hospital bill. What do you think?”

There was widespread agreement that this was indeed a very good idea.

“That’s why my wife and I decided to write this personal check for two hundred and fifty dollars of our own money to get things started. Folks like Wiley and his mama, the Hoods, the Mendozas, and all the others affected by the tornado need your support and your help. I hope you’ll be generous and have fun today—there’s lots of things for you and family to do—and I’m pleased and honored to get this affair kicked off and officially opened. But before we do that, let’s ask Father Ginderbach to lead us in prayer. Shall we?”

It was agreed that we shall.

After Ginderbach said a prayer, the mayor cut the ribbon as a photographer from the local newspaper took his picture, and the “Saint Francis Tornado Relief Fundraiser Fair” got started. The PA was turned on, and Dolly Parton’s “Here You Come Again” floated out of the large speakers, her magical voice carrying across the grounds.

“He’s a nice man,” Mama said, looking with fondness at the mayor.

Jackson stood behind his parents, looking at me, pretending he wasn’t. I wanted to say something but didn’t know what. Those wounded puppy-dog eyes were giving me fits.

“Thank you for coming,” I said to Mr. and Mrs. Ledbetter.

“Our pleasure,” Mrs. Ledbetter said.

“Reminds me of when the carnival used to come to town,” Mr. Ledbetter said.

We surveyed the grounds. A variety of inflatables had been rented and set up on the lawns. For a buck each, the kids could play as long as they liked. On the sidewalk in front of the church were a variety of grills and tables heavy with hot dog and hamburger buns and all the fixings. Farther on, the Saint Francis Youth Group had set up a dart game, a bowling game, and a wet slide. The ladies’ auxiliary had a table full of baked goods. Mary’s youth group from First Baptist had their pie-throwing booth set up. For five dollars, you could throw a pie at anyone who could be convinced to sit in the chair inside the booth. Mary had asked to be excused from this obligation, as she was going to sing later on and didn’t want her hair messed up. On the other side of the church was a stage erected on the back of a tractor-trailer. The New Albany Pickers played bluegrass and gospel while passing around a “can for the cause.”

By noon, as we made our way to the stage area to listen to Mary sing, it seemed half of New Albany had showed up.

“This is the life,” Mrs. Ledbetter said, drawing on her vape pen and smiling.

“I’m sure it’s not quite as grand as you’re used to,” I said, keenly aware that all of New Albany was probably the size of one city park on the fabled grounds of Boston.

“Don’t be silly. It’s delightful. I paid a visit to the booth with the pies. Apparently, for a small donation, I can throw a pie at anyone I like. I think I’ve decided to throw a pie at you, Wiley. You’re ever so stubborn. Poor Jackie has been mooning around like a lost soul, and you won’t even call.”

“I might pay my five bucks and throw a pie at him,” I said.

“Why don’t you? It will make you feel better.”

I looked at Jackson, who offered the merest hint of a smile.

“It
would
make me feel better,” I agreed. “But then I’d have to pay another five dollars and throw a pie at you, Mrs. L, because you’re a huge, gigantic, enormous, endless pain in my ass.”

“If I’m going to give it up, I want a sizeable donation for the cause, Wilfred. A mere five dollars won’t cut it, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll pay a hundred dollars,” Jackson said straight off.

“Aren’t you sweet?” she asked. “My adorable son!”

“Well, you are a pain in the ass, Mom.”

“Darling, when something the size of a bowling bowl crawls out of
your
uterus, you will have earned yourself a certain amount of forbearance.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. So where are we on the hundred dollars?”

“You can’t be serious, Jackie.”

“I’ll kick in another hundred,” Mr. Ledbetter offered. “What do you think about that, woman?”

“I’m worth far more than that, dear. If you want to see me in that chair, you’re going to have to dig a little deeper.”